


you’re my horizon, so hold on dear

by akaeijis



Series: a lifetime waiting for us [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Language of Flowers, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-Canon, She/They pronouns for pidge, Slow Build, Vietnamese Keith (Voltron), em dash you are my burden, falling back in love, it feels like. something mundane? its a rediscovery of an old love, keith is the horizon (starts crying), like its slow., now its pining keith hours, pidge keith friendship hours too, they have christmas sweaters in ferbruary my house my rules, too many references, trying to know someone again even though you both know each other too well, vintage classics such as: mothman cryptid lover but inversed lactose intolerant keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 15:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaeijis/pseuds/akaeijis
Summary: Keith’s throat is dry as he prays that maybe that brave boy will come out once again, that same boy that said, ‘you can come back tomorrow’ and looked at Lance as if he was a bursting star in the dark of the night.  Keith wants to ask,do you remember?or even more important,do you forgive me?Or, Keith and Lance almost fall in love at the garrison. Keith forgets and the rest is history, the rest is Voltron until Keith is standing in the garrison halls years later and heremembers.(a story about missed chances, change, and coming home.)
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: a lifetime waiting for us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2115033
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	you’re my horizon, so hold on dear

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is probably best read after _[let me melt under the heat of your sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405835)_ , but could probably be read as a stand-alone - there’s a ton of references to it but it boils down to that: keith and lance had a fling at the garrison, then keith leaves to find shiro, they form voltron, but keith forgets, until he doesn’t and tries to build a bridge again after healing from the war. i ignore the epilogue and most of s8; all them have diff endings here. it's up to you how you interpret lance and allura's relationship, it works all the same. (however the first fic is four year old writing, so understandable if you want to pass on it).  
> 
> 
> thank you always again to my dearest [stacey](https://twitter.com/alamangoes), who returns as a beta and guide for this fic <3 i am nothing without you and appreciate you to the moon; and thank you [ading abby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suki_dreams/pseuds/suki_dreams)! for looking this over and inspiring me! vietnamese keith is once again inspired by ate may’s fic, which you guys have all read, but here's [the link to the iconic space museum fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703221)  
> 
> 
> title is from _[ if there's nothing left](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYHoEbz1o2g&ab_channel=NIKI) _ by niki  
> 
> 
> without further ado, keith pining (tm):

In the hallways of the garrison is where Keith realizes.

This is the setting: Thursday night, they’ve been stationed at the garrison for almost a year after the war now, passing each other on the way to their rooms, bidding goodnight, when it hits Keith like a blast of cold water — the same feeling that washes over him when Blue reaches into his head with affection, when Lance looks at him through the comms, or when he’s diving headfirst with the wind behind him.

But Lance is already shutting the door to his room, leaving Keith to be the one who stays in the hallway with his two feet on the ground, the floor feeling like gravity pulling on him but he can’t push back; as if he’s free falling, crashing in blindly like how it felt to be fighting for everything in the middle of an ocean of stars. But no, he’s on Earth, with a ceiling fan whirling above him, the same corridors where glares of blue and violet were traded, the same planet where he kicked the boot to a shack with only a handful’s grasp on hope for something more.

Maybe something happened just now or maybe it already happened or maybe he just realized. Maybe he’s already too late.

-

The sudden _whatever this is_ hits him and so he does what he always does. Gives space. He gives himself space, he gives Lance space, he gives Earth some space. They say time heals all wounds so maybe it will shake off this feeling that’s pulling him down to the trenches. He needs to stop thinking about anything so he can keep moving forward. He keeps himself busy with the Blades of Marmora, right next to his mom, sometimes leaves a message or two to the old team now and then, takes Kosmo out, exhausts himself doing pull-ups in his room. Rinse. Repeat.

He sees Pidge the most out of everyone, but only because he works with her a little. He’s a bit glad someone is still sticking with him after all this time, but he’d never say it. Sometimes they tell stories, such as how Shiro had moved out to the suburbs with her brother and they adopted a dog. They named the labrador ‘Frog’ and she’s not even green. Hunk and Lance had moved together in some apartment in California, a day trip away from the garrison base. When Pidge talks about them, they start to seem like stories rather than people he knows and fought with.

Some may say he’s taking the coward’s route: running away. Lance once mentioned that he felt like Keith was the one always leaving.

It’s in the dull moments far and in between missions when the pieces of his memories knit around his head, memories that he never thought of as anything, until he almost forms the whole picture, into something. He’s always had a one track mind, it was always _flygarrisonshiroshiroshirovoltronvoltrongalrafly_ to the point that he forgot the spaces in between.

He thinks, maybe, this is how it began:

Slow footsteps in the hall. Bumping into someone. Violet eyes gazing.

Blue eyes glaring back (for the _first time_ , when they’re _fourteen_. Not sixteen with Shiro stuck between them), “The name’s Lance.”

The rooftop. This is how it began.

-

It was when he was still studying at the garrison.

Keith liked to think of himself as a rebel, it was cool and that’s what all the kids who didn’t have parents on television do. They sneaked out after hours and sat on a rooftop and brood. That’s what they do and Keith was cool and a rebel and doesn't have parents so he followed their rules.

He was lonely and the sky had been the one thing constant in his life, they’re the one thing he remembered from his mother. Even though he can’t remember how she looked or how her voice sounded, he could remember her strong hands and a whisper, a dream, of stars surrounding them.

Keith wondered if it meant anything; that he’s young and sad and sometimes he can feel the stars pulse in his veins. It kept him up at night when the air was cool against his hot head that wanted to throw a middle finger at any figure of authority. Except for Shiro, the only person with authority Keith allowed in his life, but even he was on thin ice. He was the only constant in his life, always finding each other. Once in grade school living with a foster family, neighbors with another one, until they became sort of friends as Shiro invited him to tinker in his garage, to encourage him to apply to the Galaxy Garrison.

Shiro said cigarettes were bad, but the parentless kids on shows do it, it’s cheap, he had nothing else to do, and there’s something familiar about watching the thin paper crumple, burning by the tips of his fingers, a minute of high in his mind that almost feels like flying. It stopped him for a second from thinking of taking one of the stupid Garrison’s simulators on a real joy ride throughout the desert. So he lit one up.

He heard a scuff by the east entrance that night. Blue eyes. Keith’s own eyes widened, caught. Maybe he was going to say something, maybe he wasn’t, but before he could even find out, blue eyes already ran away.

-

Blue eyes came back again the next night, and he doesn’t say his name (he _does_ , but Keith doesn’t _remember_ bumping into him in the hallway, saying, “The name’s…” and he never _will_ until it’s too late), so Keith referred to him as Blue in his head.

Blue rushed in, a bit of a mess and out of breath with silky pajamas which Keith always wondered how they would feel on the skin. He would talk and talk all night, and told Keith that “when you fly, you looked like you were born to do so” and rambled about how humans don’t even know what dark matter is and Blue spread his arm towards the stars, the desert, and the twinking purple lights surrounding the Garrison and asked, “You don’t come up here to admire _this_?” like this view was a secret prize that he had found, something brilliant in the dull lives they lived.

The skyscape wasn’t new to Keith, it was a part of him as the first sight one sees when they learn what eyes do. He’s only lived in the desert, despite being constantly transferred to a new home, to a new place like he was something to be pushed away — it was always here. Dry, dusty air with an endless sky. But this view, in a way, was new to him. The cool breeze that flirted with brown hair, the stars and lights seemed to explode like bursting glow sticks in the night.

Eventually, Blue laid down while tracing constellation patterns and said, “I want to be a pilot because I want to experience all of that up close,” and their eyes locked, “What about you?”

Keith huffed. His fingers were longing for a burn, but Blue’s presence kept him from taking one. He didn’t want to scare him away. He said, “I don’t want to stay on Earth anymore.” Keith didn’t tell him that he feels something pulling him, whispering to him that belongs somewhere else, somewhere not here, and somewhere up there by the stars and the constellations Blue was tracing. But if he did, would things have changed? If he allowed himself to be vulnerable, could they have?

When Blue started to leave, eyes darting away, trying to escape, Keith took warm hands into his own. He’s not sure why he did it, maybe it was the enigma of feelings written on this boy's face that was almost a reflection of his own, a distant mirror. Maybe it was him trying to keep something that he couldn’t let go of, that he didn’t want to let go of — that one stray dream of his mother, the high of nicotine, and he said, “You can come back tomorrow.”

But because of his stupid one track mind, Keith doesn’t think about these nights again. Never thinks them over, lives day to day, and never bothers to think of the future. Rather, he starts going over these moments, he starts to remember the breezy nights, blue eyes, tanned hands like a ghost of his own, almost a decade later, in interstellar space, far away from Earth and anything blue.

There are many sleepless nights and Pidge asks him, “are you sleeping enough, your eye bags are disgusting, Vân Kiều.”

-

When Keith was still in school, he never thought that Blue truly walked the hallways between classes and tested flight simulators. Blue was a phantom, only to exist at night and bring Keith far away, to another world where gravity didn’t seem to have a hold on them. He told stories about his family (how Maria is a badass who is awesome at billiards, Sebastian is a momma’s boy, that Blue loves Miguel, and has a soft spot for Fernanda) until Keith knew Blue’s family like one he might have had. Surprisingly, Keith told Blue even a little about himself and his family, he’s there for his worst moments, wondering if the feeling of the wind in his ears that he loves so much will feel differently on the way down. Blue whispered that he wonders what it’s like to drown sometimes.

Huh. When twenty-four year old Keith thinks about these moments he really should’ve had a clue. Keith Vân Kiều more like Keith Vân Dumbass.

Blue’s also there for his softest moments, like when Blue called him ‘hotshot’ while refusing to meet his eyes and it had been so endearing that he lied about not being able to find Scorpio.

(“Yeah, but you probably already knew that. Constellations are basic and stuff,” Blue said.

But no. Keith is reckless, impulsive, and he always knows when things are _important_ and this _is, was,_ so he pushed forward, blood in his veins turned into rapid rivers and said back, “Not really, I’m not that good. At constellations. So you should, like,” Keith’s heartbeat was a drum in his ears, a flame heating his face a storm, and he’s not sure what he was doing, but he’s never sure with Blue because he never wants to let go but he never learned how to keep. Blue brought this out in him, always, and Keith said, “Show me. My sign’s Scorpio.”

And Blue grasped his hand, a gentle touch, faces a breath away, and they traced Scorpio and all other patterns in the sky. At this moment, time stopped and the universe was in the palms in their hands. They created lines between the sea in the sky as if they were gods. It was as if the night sky was created by them for them, when the stars bent to their will.)

Blue called him something along the lines of ‘dark eyes, pretty face’ and said that everyone in class admired him. Keith wondered if Blue was one of them. Blue also said before he was officially a pilot and had to go on a mission, he would like to see the ocean. He looked at him with eyes brighter than the edges of the horizon. Keith had never been to a shore, but he imagined that it was that color of the other boy’s eyes and decided he would like to see the ocean as well.

-

The fall: The Keroberos mission crash.

He was rage. Anger blinded him, dragged his body until he stood in the same spot that was reserved for him and Blue in the night. But it was bright, Shiro was gone, and Blue found him in the light of the sun rather than constellations.

And Keith was burning. His body was on fire, falling, like cigarette ashes dropped onto the ground. The sunlight blurred his vision, or maybe it’s the tears, or maybe it’s Blue there, trying, trying to keep him grounded. His hands were flying, explaining that the bastardized pigs at the Garrison just _gave up_. And maybe it had been hours, but the sun was still high in the sky like a mockery, like ruining their sacred ground.

Blue’s eyes wandered away from him. To the door.

Air rushed out of him, compressing him inside until he couldn’t breathe, because _if Blue_ leaves, _leaves_ , he’s not sure what he would do, so he grabbed Blue’s hand and whispered brokenly, “Stay.”

He spent the next few days lifeless, unsure what to do, obsessively listening to stray signals in his room because the one person that ever believed him was gone. And Keith was tenacious and it was as if the universe was screaming at him that Shiro was _alive_. One whisper of a radio from kilometers off of Keroberos was all he needed to leave.

So he planned one final trick, one grand plan to go out, he took Blue to the beach, snuck out at night, stealing one of the motors from the garrison until they raced to the surf, tumbling through the water. It felt as if everything was theirs. This sea belonged to them. The sun that pinked Keith’s knuckles and the sea salt that curls Blue’s hair, it belonged to them, and they were allowed to be free in the daylight, rather than hidden in the night.

Keith kissed him, once at the shore.

Then a second time: when they returned during the early hours of the next day, in the middle of the dark Garrison hallway, thirty minutes before Keith left for fucking good, just after asking Blue to stay, Blue was looking at him like the earth ripped under their feat and Keith wondered if it was like looking into a mirror because he couldn’t feel the ground beneath him either.

Blue asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

Keith didn’t say anything except tighten the grip he has on Blue. Blue almost slipped away, turned away for real, but this time, Blue is the one who took the risk, in a brilliance that Keith perhaps loved. It was ungentle, unthinking yet Blue’s hands that cupped his face treated Keith as if he was as fragile as water and Keith kissed back harder. Tangled his own fingers in brown hair because this was true, an honesty that didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want to let go of, didn’t want the hour to change, and didn’t want tomorrow to come.

But Adam and Eve were kicked out of Eden, too close to the sun and you fall, and Keith pulled away first. At the time, his mind was plagued with one goal: finding Shiro.

Keith said, “Trust me.”

And Blue replied, “Okay.”

A stupid promise. Blue shouldn’t have.

-

Then Keith left and he didn’t even remember Blue’s name. But he has the stories of how his little siblings almost broke his bed in half and the warmth he felt when they were inches apart and how maybe Keith fell in love — but Keith had other things to worry about so he pushed Blue to the back of his mind and _focused_. _Shiroshiroshiro,_ his brain played on repeat as smoke followed his runaway from the Garrison, sand flew in every direction, _shiroshiroshiro. Patience._

He spent countless nights listening to neighboring frequency waves, fitting paths and random marks, fallen maps and patterns that could lead him back to Shiro. Looking for any way he can reach him, even though the stars looked so far away and the sky seemed too endless. He was living too fast, no time for rest, blue markings, stars falling.

Time was only still for memories.

Then four seasons pass, Scorpio and Leo still rotating in the sky, and he met blue eyes that glared at him and said, “the name’s Lance.” This time they were sixteen, an injured Shiro stuck between them. Not the phantom that haunted him at fourteen.

Keith didn’t pick up on the hint of desperation and double meaning behind the words, he couldn’t connect the dots even when they were right in front of him, pushed Blue behind and didn't understand why Lance’s eyes bore into him like he was searching for something, for someone.

A fire in his eyes as if he hated Keith. And Lance talked too much, flirted like he couldn’t help himself, said stupid things, an even stupider pilot at first, and he hated Keith for some reason so Keith returned the hostility — and the rest of it is history, the rest is Voltron, is Keith standing in the garrison halls years later, steel beneath him, and he _remembers_.

-

At night, Keith dreams if things were different. If he rubbed the stubbornness from his eyes and saw that Blue was Lance.

Sunset.

“Hey,” Keith would say, finding Lance when the sun met the sky, fitting. The sun only saw them as ghosts, dodging around each other, but night was when their inhibitions went down and they became real. Now, they meet. He doesn’t know if he should reach out or not, there are always too many decisions, too many questions, too many uncertainties when it comes to Lance.

“Hey,” Lance would say back.

He sits next to him, familiar. They sat here at fourteen and they’re still here, twenty-somethings.

He grabs Lance’s face like Blue did years ago, despite Lance’s inelegant yelp, he studies this face. Lance is older, now his cheekbones stand out high, his nose sharp, and there’s a scar by his left ear that’s from a fall he had as a kid and Keith knows this because Blue told him that story.

“Haha, whatsup?” Lance says looking up at him and it’s weird because everything’s the same. It's both of them on top of the world but everything is also different, because the world isn’t just the garrison rooftop anymore and Lance used to be taller than him.

“I remember,” Keith whispers under his breath, a quick confession, this time it's _his_ eyes refusing to meet Lance’s, a quick chance at something, “I remember you. You were with me. We would talk at night,” Keith’s voice cracks. “And, we went that day, to the beach and—”

“Wait, what,” Lance grabs his hands, pushing away. “What do you mean, you _remember?_ ”

“You! Back at school, when we were younger—”

“Uhm! Forgive me,” Lance rolls his eyes, voice scathing, scalding enough to boil, “But I revoke your right to remember. If I recall correctly, you forgot me when we rescued Shiro. If I recall correctly, you are the one that didn’t remember me.”

Lance throws Keith’s hands off.

“It’s _too late_ , Keith,” Lance says, standing up, cape and all. “You forgot. And I’m with Allura now. You don’t get to come here and tell me that you remember, when you broke promises and told me to trust you and—”

Lance sighs, withdrawn. Tired. Final. Keith feels as if he’s rooted to the ground, weighed down for the first time and he can’t get up. Crashing instead of flying. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t how it happened on the top of red that one day , Keith was too much of a coward to say anything back then.

“Go, Keith,” Lance says.

And Keith wakes up, alone and cold in empty space.

-

His nights are repetitive as his day, Keith wakes up after another _what if,_ sweat dripping down his shirt. It’s twisting with the sheets, shirt choking him around the collar so he chucks it off, flinging it across the room and it’s immediately cooler. And it’s dark. There is no warmth in space.

_Brring!_

He blindly grabs on his right, the chill of the air raising hairs on his back. He pulls the covers over himself, to pretend to feel something behind him, and answers, voice almost brittle, “Hello?”

“Keith?”

His heart drops to the pits of his stomach. He forgets to breathe.

“Hello?” Lance asks one more time, his voice an echo through signals that manage to reach Keith’s ears.

Keith exhales, “Lance?”

“Yeah,” the other line says, “Hey…”

“Hi.”

Keith bites his bottom lip, because _fuck he’s already messing this up why can’t he say anything,_ until Lance's voice rings back, familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time, “Soooo…. Are you back on Earth?”

Keith shakes his head, then realizing that Lance can’t see him. He coughs, voice tight, closed off, “No, I’m still on a mission.”

Lance is silent again as if pausing to think what he’s about to say. Have things truly been too different that they have to tread carefully around each other? Lance continues, “Well, come back soon okay? We haven’t seen you in a while and Hunk’s getting worried. Not to mention Shiro on the weekends. Like, even Pidge says they don’t see you often.”

“Oh,” Keith says. “How long has it been?”

“It’s almost been a year since we all saw you last.”

Keith’s throat feels dry when he says this, and he wonders if he’s lying again, but he mutters, “I’ll try soon.”

“Great! Just let us know when you’re coming home, okay? Stay safe, Keith.”

The word _home_ drags like a stone in his stomach that builds up to his throat, wanting to stop the conversation from ending. He’s never entertained that thought before, not until he misses affection of a common space where you are truly known, a warmth pressed to his side with a familiar heartbeat.

The line stays silent and Keith wishes he could hold Lance as he did all those years ago, to grab him and not be alone and not let go. His throat feels dry and he prays that, maybe, that once brave boy will come out once again, that same boy that said, ‘you can come back tomorrow’ and looked at Lance as if he was a bursting star in the dark of the night. Keith wants to ask, _do you remember?_ or even more important, _do you forgive me?_

But that boy doesn’t come out. Instead, Keith closes his eyes and replies, “Bye, Lance.”

-

“Heard you said you were coming home soon?” Pidge asks him a few weeks later as their little engines rumble on the screen.

They’re silent for a while as they accelerate forward, Keith already swerving left and right around Pidge. _Home_ comes up again, he pushes it away, giving the idea space. Instead, he asks, “What do you mean?” and slides through one of the item boxes. Nice. He got a Bullet Bill.

“Lance said you said you were coming back soon.” Pidge curses afterwards, getting themselves into fourth place on the first lap around. Even though Keith’s eyes are trained on the screen, he can imagine that they’re raising their eyebrows.

Keith shrugs. “Dunno. Soon.”

Pidge doesn’t speak up again, the thrumming noises of engines fill in the emptiness. Maybe, to have a part of you belong to them and vice versa, creating a little cranny to go back to. Home.

“Uh-huh, are you going to keep this promise?” Pidge mutters, “Or are you going to make another one you can't keep?” They speak so flippantly, so off to the side that Keith barely has time to process one thought after another. He fumbles with his controls so much that Pidge hits him with a red shell.

“Whatever,” they continue, “Shiro's birthday is coming soon if you want to come.”

They keep hitting him with more shells, they keep playing Mario Kart, then Final Fantasy XV, then KillBot Phantasm, until Keith’s eyes are dry, sticking to his eyelids.

-

Keith’s fighting in a maze.

The maze is unnatural, like he’s trapped in a mall at two in the morning. It’s tinted a cold blue, with tall walls and shadows that create the illusion of openness that traps Keith. He hears footsteps echo behind him so he whirls around, sword in his hand, a red sword — just as it was before. The weight in his hand settles uncomfortably, a fuzziness in his head that unsettles him in an image of a liminal space. The overwhelming feeling of everything becoming nothing.

Standing before him is Lance. Hair longer than he remembers last seeing, wearing their old paladin armor, and eyes blown wide and everything blue. “Keith?”

“Lance?” Keith breathes out. “What are you doing here?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Lance pushes around him, their shoulders knocking together in a demand. “Come’n dude, don’t lose yourself now.”

“What?” Keith repeats himself, following as Lance leads them, as if he knows these hallways. A man on a mission. Keith’s mouth hangs open, trying to ask why, “Why are we here, what mission is this, why are we wearing this?”

Lance’s eyes are set dead straight ahead, “Huh, you must’ve blanked out. We’re trapped, but I think the light is the way out,” and he points forward. But Keith is distracted — Lance is smiling. They’re trapped in time and space, an expression that Keith has been starved from for years. Free, effortless, and unguarded and Keith wonders if he can keep smiling like that forever. He wonders if he can be the cause of it in this lifetime.

“Okay,” Keith says and they keep moving forward. The walls seem to tower impossibly over them, they can barely see the sky. Still, something isn’t right.

“Are you okay?” Lance asks, side eyeing him.

Keith worries his bottom lip, he still doesn’t understand what’s going on; but Lance is here. Maybe that means something. Maybe he can fix things.

“No,” Keith shakes his head, trying to inhale some of the same recklessness he’s known for — and maybe impulse and courage aren’t the same things, but he’s _trying_ so he grabs Lance’s hand. “I’m okay.”

Lance’s eyes twinkle like the remains of a supernova and he squeezes Keith’s hand back, “That’s good.”

Keith’s heart skips. This time, he’s doing things right.

It’s a split second of bliss, of feeling the weight of the world unchained from his back, until a shadow comes from behind Lance and Keith shouts, “Look out!” and pulls Lance out of the way, just before the figure smashes the ground where Lance stood.

Shadows all around them, Lance yells, “Run!” and fire courses through his veins, settling into something so familiar. His body starts moving on its own, arms swinging his bayard, while Lance is by his side. He slashes each figure with precision, like he was made to do it, an echo of _‘like you were born to do it’_ goes through his mind as his back meets Lance’s. They’re being encircled by the enemy, just like old times, them against the universe.

He feels Lance shooting them down behind him so Keith continues to fight as best as he can. Focusing, one two three. One two three. Steps in a routine dance, a friend welcoming him back after a long time.

“We’re close to the light!” Lance yells, pulling Keith’s arm towards the clearing.

But Lance is behind him now.

“I’m not leaving you!” Keith yells back, voice heavy, “Not again!”

“It’s fine, Keith!” Lance elbows something behind him and it’s too much, Lance can’t fight them all in one on one combat, why is he even _here,_ he’s not the best at close contact, why did Lance pull him over here, why, why, _why._

“Lance!” Keith heaves one more time, body heavy, glued to the floor. Like thick vines trying to drag him down.

Lance locks eyes with him, and whispers, “Keith.”

And he’s gone. Disappeared. Vanishes.

Keith stumbles onto the floor, the tension of being kept down leaving, so he springs, jumping to the same spot Lance was. Not a trace of a single shadow.

“What,” He mumbles to himself, “He was just here, I swear, he…”

Then around him the maze is gone. White.

All he sees now is the last image of Lance he remembers, back on Earth, face glowing from the sunset, eyes faraway. A whisper of a plea, _did you think you can fix this._

And he opens his eyes. Meeting the familiar, cold ceiling of his room in the Blades.

He breathes in. Almost laughs.

Of course, the one time he almost does it _right_ is a dream.

-

The next day, Keith decides that he’s had enough of this.

He takes his phone out, texts Lance, _not sure when i’ll be back but how is it going,_ puts on his uniform, starts their morning meeting, and goes on with his day, trying to punch in their fleet towards the next planet that is in need of infrastructure to patch up their lifestyles.

When he returns, he does whatever he does to not look back on his phone. He scrubs himself down in the shower, brushes his hair (twice), tries playing some games by himself since Pidge is finally sleeping, until he starts tearing out his hair, messing up his job brushing it.

Then he checks it.

Lance replied.

_Lance: long time no hear buddy!_

_Lance: it’s been okay, honestly, even though i’ve always wanted to be back i feel like i should be doing more_

_Lance: been thinking of getting a scuba licence LOL_ _  
_ _Lance: but how about you?? what dashing adventures have you been through, alien robin hood?_

Keith plops down on the bed, staring at the words, trying to imagine it being said in Lance’s voice, going through each syllable until he memorizes the words.

He starts typing back.

_Keith: Not a busy day, we’re just adjusting our coordinates to the planet 3Obot_

_Keith: I’m glad. But I know it’s been a while so let me know if you can’t talk._

Keith drops the phone on his chest and pulls his arm over his eyes. Gosh, what is he doing.

The phone _dings!_

He stumbles for it, almost dropping it on to his face.

_Lance: what!1! you know you can talk to me whenever_

_Lance: ooh! tell me about the new planet, are the aliens gooey or humaney_

Keith stares at his phone again.

And he starts responding.

-

Keith has no idea what he’s doing.

When Lance texts him:

_rest soon! you were up way too late last night_

Or:

_you didn’t know i can cook?¿? i’m quite offended mister vân kiều_

_you gotta try the flan i make with hunk_

Keith realizes that maybe, he doesn’t quite know Lance that well as he thought. Every message he learns something new, a whole different person from the image of the boy in his youth and the soldier he fought with during a war. Throughout the ‘how are you’s, Lance tells him of the daffodils he picked from a field that day, the jeep he and Hunk have been restoring, tells Keith to stay hydrated, a picture of a fuzzy caterpillar, and then _‘come home soon’._ It’s as if he’s met someone new and he’s slowly learning everything about them.

When they finally decide to do a video call, Keith is pulling on his bottom lip, hair wrecked in a topknot. He can tell his face is a blotchy red all over his face from his tiredness and lack of care, but if he thinks about it too much he knows it will stress him out even more.

The screen loads.

A beat.

Lance’s face fills the screen, crinkles forming by his eyes, and it seems as if Lance had filled out his jawline even more. He smiles and says, “Keith!” and it sounds like honey between his lips.

“What's up! How are you? Dude, you gotta take some rest — I can see those eye bags all the way from here. How was your latest mission!”

“I’m okay, thanks.” Keith feels the corners of his mouth lift, “I’ll be taking a long sleep after this. And it was pretty good, it was a simple security mission. There was this set of planets that are kind of in their own corner. Like a food desert, so we managed to connect them to a route with the rest of their system.”

“Awesome,” and Lance just looks at him. Even through the static of the screen, the gaze keeps Keith still, careful, like the echoes of a plucked guitar string. He looks at Keith like he is something important, to truly be seen as vulnerable as he can be, filled with too much emotion it crashes Keith like a wave.

So he looks away.

“So, how’s California? Why there?”

Lance smiles, patient, a twinkle in his eyes as if there’s something he knows that Keith doesn’t. “Well, I didn’t want to stay in a dusty desert my whole life. No offence,” he flashes some finger guns, “and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be _too_ far from the base, but I also wanted to be close to my family. My parents don’t live here but my sister and cousins do, and there’s a lot of things to do here.”

“I know I said that I’ve always wanted to see the stars and stuff up close, but being away for so long made me realize that I want to stay here and make more memories and explore more things. I haven’t lived in California, so I thought it would be a good place to start. And besides!” His eyes brighten and his hands take up almost all of the screen and Keith decides he really likes it. “The entire ocean is unmapped! Did you know that we know more about space than the Mariana Trench? And _sea worms,_ dude! They’re so neat, those funky little colorful worms.”

Lance rambles on for a little bit longer, looking younger as he talks. As if Earth is an adventure he’s ready to take on, the same twinkle in his eyes when he flew Blue around the universe. And Keith thinks about how Lance said, ‘ _I said that I’ve always wanted to see the stars and stuff’_ and it was probably a slip up, but does Lance remember when he told him that almost a decade ago too? He listens to Lance talk about a fancy coffee shop his sister brought him to, when he went surfing he saw some starfish, like it was just as interesting as touching dark matter in a wormhole.

“Keith? You okay?” Lance asks, interrupting his thoughts. He must’ve been silent for too long.

“Yeah!” Keith cringes as his voice cracks. He tries to spit out some words as delicately as he can, “It’s just… You really changed a lot.”

“Hmm. Really?” Lance’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t think I noticed any change, but then, you are the one not here.”

Keith winces a little. He tries to amend it, “I mean like. I thought you were only this excited about exploring the space and how we aren’t the only ones alone and stuff,” he explains. “I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought.” The last phrase comes out of his mouth with an aftertaste of a bitter lemon.

When he finally meets Lance’s eyes, they’re soft like they were all those years before, glazing over with something new — grounding Keith. “Well, we have all the time in the universe to catch you up, Vân Kiều.”

And he says it like a promise.

(Then Lance scrunches his face up, head tilted to the side, and asks, “Which, by the way, does your last name mean anything? Not that it has to, like, I don’t even know what mine means, maybe I should look that up—”

A crash of Lance fumbling in the back and Keith shoots a smile into the webcam.)

-

“So, you’re saying that you want to keep moving around and stuff? Want to live in between Florida and California?” Keith asks another night, laying on his barrack. Lance’s face glares at him from a screen beside him. Keith tosses a red ball up and down. It’s Kosmo’s but he keeps it as a stress ball.

“Sorta…?” Lance responds. “My ‘home’ address will be the apartment I’m sharing with Hunk, but I’m thinking of exploring Earth. Nomadic styles? Backpacking.” He nods with finality. “Yah, that! Just for a few years or so. My brother is getting married in Cuba next spring, so there’s that. But after that, I’m going on a Pacific tour with Hunk. What about you, what are your plans?”

Keith stops tossing the ball. He’s never really thought of it. He never let himself think of the future — and he still doesn’t. All this life, he’s only known a place of in between. He loves being with his mom and contributing something in the empty vastness of their life, the adrenaline pumping as he glides through the stars. Then there’s the love he has with long calls with Pidge on the screen, the warmth he has when he thinks of Hunk and Shiro; as if he never has to hide behind walls, people that see him for how he truly is.

He turns to his right. And then there’s this boy.

Keith’s voice comes out hoarse. “I’m not sure. I never really thought of what I want to do. But I like routine, maybe,” his eyes set out, focusing on something across. The words stumble out of his mouth and he knows this is what I want. “I like being in control of what I’m doing. It can be routine or something stupid, but as long as I am the one doing it.”

Lance nods.

Keith finds himself talking for a bit more, “I’m not sure what the future is going to be for me. I don’t know what I want. But, I know that I like helping out here. I like talking to you.”

Keith turns, eyes meeting Lance’s. And he asks, “What are you thinking about?”

“Well… Sooner or later, Pidge, Hunk, and I have been thinking of going on an All-America road trip, all fifty states, you know? Part of this travel thing I want to do. We wanted to invite Shiro, too.” Lance rambles while Keith follows the movements of his hands, eventually it seems as if the other boy is backed up into a corner, eyes straying and voice small when he says, “And, you, of course. That could be something for the future.”

A brief image of warm air and hands on his and it’s gone, sand slipping from his hands. He blanks out, eyes trained above. “I’ll think about it,” he manages to get out, tossing the red ball to the ceiling.

-

In the past few months, Keith has learned three things:

  1. He’s changed. All of them have changed. He’s turning twenty-five. Pidge’s hair is growing out, seeing a girl working in engineering. Shiro settling down with Matthew, worry lines fading into laughter lines. Hunk opening up his own auto shop, truly creating something. Life is a never ending cycle of something new and Keith moves with the tide, walls crumbled, finally free.
  2. Lance is like an interconnected ocean — always bringing them back together as one, never the same wave as the last, strange and familiar all at once. The intimacy of knowing someone new in your own home.
  3. He’s in love with Lance.



Lance pushes and pulls on him like the tide and the moon, a gravity that always brings him back to Keith, as if everything wants him to fall in love with Lance in every way.

Every second he learns something more, like how Lance bought matching wrist guards with Pidge or how he’s seriously thinking of investing in a mini aquarium. He loves _this_ Lance, the culmination of the people he knew (Blue, Paladin, home) and the never ending future crash of tide. Keith’s in this for the long haul, even if he was forced to lose this feeling, he’s sure he would love each and every version of Lance all over again.

-

It doesn’t stop him from tearing his hair out on his next call with Pidge.

“I don’t get it,” Pidge seems more interested in the eggroll from the Chinese takeout they got for another one of their extra, late night shifts. They don't have to work but they just like it, which is something Keith can understand. However, this is a mild crisis for Keith and he’s never been the best with people or _feelings_ and he’s a bit embarrassed to talk to Shiro about this, so he wishes that they seemed less engrossed in chewing on her crunchy goodness. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Have you not been listening?” Keith scratches the base of his head, right above his topknot. He nibbles on some fruit his mom sliced for him; it tasted a bit like water but it was refreshing. “The party you guys are planning. I think I should go.”

“Yeah. I think you should go too. I miss you, you miss me. Isn’t it that simple?” Pidge retorts.

Keith feels his face heat up a little. “I miss you too,” He whispers.

Pidge, rather than being sentimental, which Keith is semi grateful for, rolls her eyes and groans with her head stretched behind the table. “I repeat — then what’s wrong?”

“Okay, okay,” Keith fiddles with his hands. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Pidge mocks him and takes another bite of their food.

“Shut up,” he says back without any malice. Heat crawls up his chest and to his neck. He tries to take a moment to think his words through, but he ends up just blurting out, “I left because of Lance.”

Then immediately recoils. “Okay, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that.” He inhales to calm his nerves. To steady himself. “I think I like Lance.”

“Okay.” Pidge says,“And?”

“Isn’t that weird to you?” He groans out, tired, exhaustion pouring out across the screen.

“What, that you realized that you liked him and were a pussy about it and you ran away to space with your dog and are having major self-doubt with your decisions if you should come back home because you don’t know how to face him in person?” Pidge says all of that in one breath while he chokes on his own spit. “No, I don’t think it’s weird. And you want to see him. He wants to see you. I want to see you. You want to see me and everyone else.'' They place food down and look at him straight.

“Keith, what seems to be the real issue here? Are you okay? Rejection? When have you ever been scared of anything?”

Her eyes are green. Serious.

He bites his lip, unsure if it's to keep him from spilling secrets or dry sobs, but they’ve been so gentle and good to him, they deserve to know him truly.

After all, that’s what he’s trying to do. To be a better friend and let go of his defenses. Besides, if he was more vulnerable five years ago, things might have been different.

Well, no time like the present.

“It’s just,” Keith squeezes his eyes shut. “I feel as if I already missed too many chances.”

Pidge leans back, a raised eyebrow saying _elaborate,_ the posture saying _I’ve got time._

He tells them about everything he’s never told anyone else, a secret that has been haunting him from the depths of his closet. He tells them about how he was transferred through the foster system, how Shiro was there to steer him in a proper direction, how the stars seemed like home rather than earth. How he met a boy back in the Garrison, forming a connection with another person to the point that invincibility was inevitable. How his one track mind was all to blame that he didn’t make the connection of Blue and Lance, and how he’s been falling for him all over again.

He doesn’t open his eyes to see Pidge’s reaction. They’re silent, so he keeps going, in a tiny voice that’s been whispering to him in the back of his mind.

“I’m,” he lets out a little laugh, “scared.”

He inhales, bracing himself to get back to reality. When he opens his eyes, Pidge is looking at him, unnerving eyes that seem to glint. “Of _what_ , Vân Kiều?”

Rage fills him, the kind that only a set list of people can do, he briefly thinks of Lance, then growls, “Have you not been listening? He might reject me! I’m not even sure he would forgive me — hell, _I wouldn’t_ forgive me! He could hate me for it. I’m not sure what I want anymore, I don’t know if I want to do something new, to let go of the life I have now. And, and,” he doesn’t know what he was about to say.

He looks down at his lap, teeth grinding.

“So?” Pidge asks, and before Keith can go through some more angry ranting, they put up a hand to silence him. “You’re Keith Vân Kiều. The Black _and_ Red Paladin, defender of the universe, son of a kickass mom, a member of the Blades! You’ve fucking blasted off and defeated enemies people have never seen of, defeat me at Mario Kart all the time. You’re telling me you like him, and he liked you for sure, and yeah there were some missteps on the road but!” They point their fingers at him, and he can feel them despite being planets apart.

“Us, the whole team, you and him — have been through so much, and you think Lance would throw all of that away? Even though you forgot him, he remained by your side and watched your back. He thinks you’re the future, Keith.” Her voice settles down to something softer.

“So, tell me. Lance is still here and he’s never left your side, he’s never left anyone, something I can’t thank him enough for,” They slump their shoulders. “Aren’t you supposed to be brave and impulsive? What do you have to lose, Keith?”

He’s left sitting there, jaw unhinged.

“Heh,” Pidge relaxes into her chair, chewing on a dumpling that’s probably gone cold by now. “That was a pretty good pep talk, wasn’t it?”

Keith is still silent.

“So, are you coming home or what?”

-

His mother is sitting across from him, hair wrapped in a towel from their shower, doing some readings on the dinner table. Moments like this are a respite from their mundane short, single worded conversations. They’re done with their plates, too hesitant to leave the table, simply enjoying being together. Kosmo’s snout is snuggled across Keith’s lap.

“Do you know what my name means?” Keith blurts out, “I heard you wanted to name me Yorak.” He must be frowning funny since Kroila smiles, or maybe she’s reminiscing of something, eyes far away.

“Well, your father’s name was Khanh Vân Kiều, but he went by Kurt. Said it was easier for the populace to pronounce. When we were naming you, he said he also wanted it to start with a ‘K’,” she says it like she’s popping a soda bottle opening, “but easy to pronounce so we went with ‘Keith’,” she smiles at him, fully now, he can almost see the whites of her teeth. “He said his lineage was of the Vietnamese peoples of Earth. And that his parents moved to Texas when he was little, but he moved to Nevada on his own shortly. He was recruited for engineering.”

“Anyway, He tried explaining to me about the rest of your name… ‘Vân’ he said was a common middle name for boys and he couldn’t come up with another one, so he just passed that down to you,” she chuckles. “He told me ‘Kiều’ was a surname, but it meant something like proud.”

This time, she takes his hand, settled in between Kosmo, in their little family. “Just like I know he is of you. I know I am.” And her eyes melting into his own.

The question of home and family rings throughout his head. It’s all he thinks about, _homehomehome._ And what comes to mind is warmth. The warmth of Kosmo, thrumming by his chest, how his mom looks at him, the memories of those he loved in his mind — the act of existing alongside people that let him be himself. He thinks of the warm touch of a boy.

So he says, “I think I should go back to Earth.”

She nods, right to the point, “How long?”

“Well, I.” He gulps, “I’m still not sure. I _love_ being here, I belong here. But I also really want to go back for a little, I’ll figure it out.” He thinks that he’s perhaps being a little bit too presumptuous, already trying out to figure out a future for him and the team, for him and Lance where he can stay with Lance while being close to his family, while still exploring the coasts and mountains of earth, while still being able to work here; balancing two worlds a part of himself. He’s going to make things right.

She looks at him for a minute, then places a hand on his shoulder. “When are you leaving?”

His hands feel numb, body moving out of his control, “As soon as possible.”

“Well, let’s get you ready,” Kroila nods and she starts walking back to Keith’s room, motioning for him to pack everything up. She starts making preparations for a pod directed back to earth on a touchpad, making sure to attach a hoverbike, just like he likes it.

He’s stuffing some clothes in a dusty bag, face away from hers, when he mutters, “I love you.”

He hears shuffling for a little bit, and her hands are back on his shoulders, a gentle kiss towards his temple, “And I, you.”

And then he’s loaded in a pod, consoles as familiar as a body part he was born with, , and he looks at his mom and Kosmo one more time. She tightens a grip on her hand as a goodbye and he’s flying through the endless amounts of stars at a speed that throws his hair back behind him.

He feels a wicked smile grow on his face, one step closer.

-

Despite all of Keith’s grandiosity, the trip to Earth is pretty boring.

It was a split second decision, a bare minimum flight craft. Just a few military packaged foods with a signal only connected to the Blades. His mom had called him once, halfway through the trip just to make sure his trajectory was right. A mouthful of ribs that tasted a bit like glue and then a nap.

When he woke up, the ship was a few hours away before landing. The landing was just a few miles away from the brights of the garrison, a familiar touchstone of a life before. Dust is still settling around him as he props himself on the hoverbike, detaching it to the rigs of the pod. When the settings finally turn on, he pulls out his phone and calls Lance.

“Hey, what’s—”

“Lance,” Keith’s throat feels heavy, “Where are you?”

“Me? Well, you _know_ I’m on Earth—”

“No, no like. Where are you _right now?_ Your address.”

Lance is silent for a moment, a minute that could be extended to an infinity, before he spits it out and Keith commits it to memory.

“Hey, hey, what are you up to?” Lance asks afterwards, his voice thick with emotion and almost on the verge of sounding panicked. “Keith?”

“Lance,” Keith tries to sound soothing, putting all of his hope on this one promise. “Trust me.”

A brief moment passes, Lance lets out a sigh, but replies with, “Okay. Just be safe.”

The line disconnects and Keith punches in the address, sends a quick prayer that Pidge won’t be too mad at him for leaving an unannounced Blades pod on garrison grounds, and drives off.

The controls of his hoverbike are familiar. Just like any flying machinery is with Keith, but this one is an old friend that’s been with him forever. His foot on the gas pedal, the sky still a dazzling dark, the wind blasts in his face and he feels an easy smile forming on his face.

Now, this is what Keith is.

The wind in his ears is loud, as well as the rev of the engine, the sky is endless and dark and Keith has the space to think. If _this_ is where he belongs, he can achieve this anywhere. It’s familiar too, driving like this.

He feels so _alive._ This feeling, the adrenaline pumping, blazing through the air, will always make him feel so right. It follows him everywhere, on earth, in space, it will never leave him and feels as if he belongs.

He thinks of his youth, how escaping from the noise of society and being alone with the stars made him feel at home. He’s never felt as if belonged anywhere, the emptiness of being passed around as if something to be ‘taken care of’ — he was always a chess piece on a board, with adults always handling him, a stain that needed to be wiped off.

Shiro was the first person in his life that made him feel seen, the first person that saw potential in him and stayed by his side. Voltron somehow thought he was fit as a paladin, with Red and Black’s love pushing him stronger. His mother finding him and fighting for him to stay. People who have chosen him, to have him in their lives. He’s always fought tooth and nail for some semblance of control, but here he is, alive and surrounded with people he can call home.

The same bike with him a decade later, Keith is finally able to be at ease. He pushes west, his thoughts start drifting — he drove this route once, took a boy he liked to the nearest ocean he could find on a map before he left. The shadows seem to glare imposingly at him as if trying to block the road ahead. The mountains shield him from the curling flickers of light. Behind these mountains, where the sun rises, is where Lance is.

-

The back of his neck is covered with a thin line of sweat, eyes squinting through the rays of the sun. It’s hot. The time reads past noon while the positioning system on his bike says he’s ten minutes away. Houses filling the streets, greens and flowers fluttering all over the communal area. Life seems to bustle in every corner, the air smells of salt and he wonders if they’re close to the sea.

And then his bike pings and he’s there.

It’s a tall, thin building with two floors that is the color of sand. The buildings next to it follow a similar look, where a couple jogs by and a group of kids biking around. A few houses down a woman is watering her plants. Chimes by the door that whistle through the air.

Keith’s feet carry him to the front door and knock. Wallflowers grow around the home. After all, this is what he was here to do.

He counts, _one, two, three._ Breathes out, _four, five, six._

The hatches of the door click, the wooden frame pulls backwards, and Lance Alvarez is looking straight at him.

Screens don’t properly convey how much a person has changed.

Smooth hair, crow’s feet. He’s wearing something Keith has never seen him wear, despite it being some loose fitting jeans and a long sleeve light blue shirt. It looks like everything Lance used to wear, but at the same time, not. A world where they are free, no longer tied to the weight of the universe.

They stare at each other. Lance’s eyes are blue.

“Keith,” Lance says, almost in a whisper, as if Keith’s name is something fragile, as if he might dissolve into the air at any minute. With one look, Keith feels as if he’s losing a dangerous game.

Keith waves.

“Uhm,” Lance’s eyes dart side to side while his hand twists the doorknob, “Hunk’s at work right now. Do you want to come in?”

Keith nods, because he’s stupid and didn’t have a game plan and Lance is here and Keith is here and there’s so much to say yet so little that even the sparse looks seem to convey each thought.

Lance opens the door and Keith steps in, the door shutting with a click. It’s a nice place, the floor beneath them is wood, something dark and homey. Keith decides he likes it better than the garrison steel.

They end up sitting in the living room, next to a glass pane that leads to a small patio in the backyard that faces west. Keith sits with his legs crossed on a rug while Lance returns with a pitcher of water with a lemon in it, places it on the coffee table, and sits next to Keith.

They don’t say anything for a minute, which is fine with Keith because his brain is empty. But the unnerving silence seems to be bothering Lance, with his hands squirming in his lap and right leg shaking.

Keith opens his mouth to say something, but Lance beats him to it.

“How are you?” His mouth twists like he said something foreign, unsure of the words.

“I’m good.” Keith replies.

A few more seconds and Lance seems to have had enough as he raises his arms, looks up to the sky as if something will help him and looks at Keith with a glint in his eyes that takes Keith back many years, almost sad, “What are you doing here, Keith?”

Keith swallows. Honesty is the best policy and all that. “I’m not really sure. I just wanted to see you.”

Lance nods. They can work with that for now.

“Are you coming to the party?”

Keith nods. “Yeah. I want to.”

Then it’s silence again. The twinkle of chimes, swishes of wind from the window, the sun is in the sky. As if the world turned upside down just for them.

“I remember, Lance.” Keith manages to breathe out, eyes trained on the movement of a tree in the window. He’s thought the words before, said them in dreams, but it’s real now, and he’s scared. But he can be brave. “I realized it a few months ago when we were still stationed in the garrison, before I left. I never thought of it before, which was such an asshole move on my part. I didn’t know what to _do_ and I just left. And you’re Blue and Lance and,” Keith clenches his fists in his lap.

Lance doesn’t say anything, just looking at Keith.

“I’m sorry,” Keith continues, voice ripping out of his throat, his mind keeps saying _dothisright,_ “You don’t deserve any of that, you deserve so much more. I just wanted to say that I remember you, those nights on the rooftop. But I also fell,” Keith bites his lips and looks away, “I also like the person I got to know during Voltron. And the person you are now. And I want to continue to know you.”

It’s silent again.

Lance turns and something swoops in Keith’s stomach. He’s never felt so pinned to the ground, all of his instincts telling him to go because he missed his chances.

Lance asks, “You named me Blue?”

Keith feels taken aback, he replies, “ _That’s_ what you got out of it?”

“You forgot my name?” Lance spits out, but the corners of his lips tilt upwards, a threat to the facade that calms a portion of Keith’s nerves, “Like I _knew_ that you were forgetting something or whatever when we rescued Shiro, but I _swear_ I told you my name before then.”

Keith offers a helpless shrug.

“I _cannot_ believe you had a whole affair with a boy whose name you didn’t even remember.” Lance falls to his back, eyes shielding his eyes in an overly dramatic fashion. Keith wants to retort, but Lance offers him a brilliant smile, “Now that’s just embarrassing for you, hotshot. Were you frolicking with other boys, is that it, huh?”

“N-no,” Keith manages to spit out. “Only you.” He says quietly.

Leaving another pause in their conversation. Lance bites his lip, bringing his knees in closer, as if hiding away and closing up around Keith. His position seems guarded now, eyes far away, no longer meeting his own.

“A lot of things have changed since then, Keith,” Lance says after the pause, his tone more clipped as he looks away from Keith, shifting the conversation to something else. “We’re twenty somethings, sorta war veterans. It’s weird, sometimes, being on Earth.”

“Like you’re walking with your legs asleep.” Keith mumbles

“Yeah!” Lance agrees, nodding along. “And I know we’re young, but we’re not the same people from before. I used to be up so many nights because I wondered what I did for you to just brush me off like that. Eventually I got over it because we were fighting with the world on our shoulders.”

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing Keith can offer. He’s not sure how much he can convey towards Lance, doesn’t know if he’s allowed to even look at him. The tension in the air is palpable as if it can be cut with a knife. Or words.

“It _hurt,_ Keith,” Lance says, a sharp slice to the heart. A sting that Keith never thought he would be on the receiving end of. “I was scared that I was too much.”

Keith bites his lips, eyes stinging, “No, never, Lance.” He says the other boy’s name with fervor, “You are always everything I wanted. I know I hurt you and I want to make it up to you, in every way I can.”  
  
“Yeah, it did,” Lance mutters, face closed off as he looks away and asks something new. “So, what do you want to do, Vân Kiều?”

“Huh?”

“What are you here for? You said you remembered, you said you’re sorry, you’re going to the party, what do you want?”

The words fall out of Keith’s lips, “I want to be with you.”

Lance raises his eyebrows. As if he’s not sure he heard what Keith said correctly, face contorted in disbelief. His arms are crossed and barely moving.

“I know I’ve been shit at keeping promises.” He thinks back — _always leaving, always the one who walks away first —_ this time the words seem less sharp, more reminders to push forward than accusations to himself all those years ago. Still, Keith presses forward, “But I want to make this work. I truly want all of you. I’m willing to do anything.”

Lance’s eyes don’t meet his and he’s biting his lips. Keith breathes.

“God, you don’t know how many years I dreamed you would say that to me.” Lance says, in a small voice, a whisper that Keith wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear. A bombshell that missed its mark, a landing that Keith attaches himself to, a whisper of hope of something, of anything to make this work.

A beat and Lance sighs, pushing away — putting space in between them again that feels like a culmination of all the years that formed them into something new. He stands up and doesn’t offer a hand for Keith to get up and looks away, “Let me think about it, Vân Kiều.”

“Oh.” Keith says. “Okay.”

Lance inhales, bracing himself in something steady. He then turns with a smile plastered on his face that resembles plastic, “Do you have a place to stay until Friday?”

Keith shakes his head. His arms crossed in something familiar, too nervous to open his mouth and break his stoic facade.

“Well, there’s a spare room in the attic. Bathroom on the second floor. _Mi casa_ and all that,” Lance stats sauntering towards the open kitchen. “Is there anything you want to eat, I bet living off that space junk is working you an appetite — wait!” Lance turns back to Keith, eyes wide and figure spazzed up and it’s so, so Lance, a familiarity that comforts Keith, “Did you even eat?”

Keith doesn’t respond but it’s as if Lance can read him like the world's easiest book, he makes a noise that crosses a choke and a cough and says, “Go shower, mister. What do you want to eat?” then shakes his head, “Nope, nope, no, I got it. Now get your butt in the bathroom.”

Keith turns, following the instructions Lance had set out, a heart threatening to burst out of his throat, and he has no idea what just happened.

-

By the door of the bathroom is a fresh pair of sweatpants and a large shirt. Keith tries not to think that they’re most likely Lance’s — the same scent and touch — as he changes into them and puts his hair up with one of the hair ties he’s had for a few weeks. If there’s anything he’s learned about long hair, is that hair ties always get lost, so he considers this one to be lucky. The bathroom is cute, decorated with palm trees and a few shells on the side of the window. There’s a lavender spray that gives him a bit of a headache.

He goes down the stairs, wood creaking beneath him, with a towel wrapped around his shoulders, and walks into the kitchen, welcomed by the sounds of crackling oil.

“What is it?” Keith asks, sitting down by the table. Everything in the apartment is light and airy. The cabinets are a light wood with pothos vines trailing down from the top. The whole apartment seems to be bathed in the sunlight coming from the windows. There’s a vase of carnations in colors of red and pink by the sink that adds to the vaguely domestic feeling.

“Ah!” Lance jumps a little, side eyeing Keith once over. Keith isn’t sure if he’s being cross examined, but it feels similar. He starts feeling self conscious under Lance’s gaze and starts rolling his shoulders back. When Lance looks away, he says, “Hunk premade some spring rolls over the weekend. I’m just frying them up. This is also a bit unconventional, but I made some yellow rice.”

Keith stays silent as he watches Lance go from flipping the rolls on the frying pan to scooping some leftover rice and setting it in the microwave. He’s vibrant under the sun, movement gliding to an unheard beat. The microwave dings, Lance places the spring rolls on a plate with a paper towel to soak up the oil.

Eventually, two plates are in front of them and Lance grabs another tupperware from the refrigerator and sits across from Keith.

“It’s another dessert Hunk made too, I forgot what he called it but it’s chocolate rice pudding. It’s super filling, actually. He put two cups of rice because it didn’t look like a lot at first, but we forgot that rice expands,” Lance smiles. “So we have a ton left, like two large tupperwares worth! But it’s really good.”

Keith keeps his hands in his lap as if moving would destroy the fragile world of a snowglobe he’s in. He’s still not sure why Lance is letting him stay here if it’s—

“It’s okay,” Lance smiles, like the ocean’s sigh, and says, “Don’t worry too much about it. Eat, Keith.” Keith is caught up in the moment, wondering if Lance looks at everyone as gentle as this. Like the foam that forms by the surf. But Lance soon looks away.

Keith tries to shrug his shoulders in an attempt to get rid of some of the tension and gingerly takes a spring roll and scoops some rice onto his plate. Lance follows suit, sounds of silverware filling the air. Keith already knows how good Hunk’s cooking is and he’s had hints that Lance is pretty decent, and Keith knows that he’s shit at anything like this, his stomach grumbles, god is he hungry, and he takes a bite.

The first taste of the roll and some rice go down his throat quickly.

Keith briefly closes his eyes in relief, “It’s great,” he says and focuses all of his attention on the food in front of him. He’s a man on a mission who hasn’t eaten in almost the past twenty four hours, damn.

Minutes later, his mouth still full that he feels his cheeks puff out as he looks up. Lance’s plate is half touched, as his chin rests on his palms and smiling gently at Keith. Maybe it’s just Keith and that he hasn’t been around people much, but he feels as if their eyes have been meeting much more than normal. Or perhaps it’s been too long since they’ve truly last seen each other, each glance being an attempt at memorizing the other.

Keith swallows, “Oops,” he lets out a nervous chuckle as his hands inch closer to the plates in between them for seconds.

All Lance does is snort and return back to his meal.

The only way to describe it is nice: full with a warm meal, Lance right in front of him, the sun heating the back of Keith’s neck, with Lance’s ankle is close to his as if they’re both trying to cross the bridge.

-

Later, Keith is enveloped in the feeling of warmness, nestled around all sides of him with comforting patterns traced through his scalp. The intimacy of someone’s touch guarding him, of that person being the source of rest, sinking deeper into the temptation of sleep and safety. He briefly hears the whisper of the words, “I can’t believe this”. A click of a doorknob briefly stirs him from the comfort of melting into the arms above him.

“Hey, honey, I’m home.” A familiar voice rings. It’s deep, mild, like an invitation into welcome arms.

“Hey, sweetums. Look what the cat dragged in.” Fingers tug through his hair again that Keith leans into. Lance.

“Hmm?” The other voice responds and Keith can hear the sounds of bags being placed on the floor, keys jingling, footsteps. Keith can’t will himself to open his eyes, wanting for a selfish second to stay in this dream where warm hands seem to pull him in closer.

“Lance, did you pick up another piece of furniture on your way home? You know we don’t have—”

A beat.

“HolyshitKeith’shome.”

And Keith’s eyes open.

He shifts so he can face the ceiling — a darker hue of light than it was before. Heat crawls up his neck, twisting his mouth as he finally acknowledges it truly was Lance sitting by him and playing his hair, he even had a blanket over him. But he focuses on Hunk in front of him. One thing at a time.

Hunk’s grown too. Keith bites his bottom lip when he realizes he hasn’t actually talked to the guy in so long, there’s an awkwardness in returning to a good friend that you haven’t seen in so long, to the point things might have changed. And of course, things have, Hunk’s hair had grown past his jawline, curling at the ends, with blank ink and oil smudges trailing down his arms.

“Hey,” Keith attempts to find normalcy, standing up to reach him, but Hunk beats him to it and cozy arms are wrapped around him in an instant, bringing back everything familiar. Keith briefly wonders if it’s him and his history of bad communication.

“Now this is a great surprise,” he hears Hunk say with a curl of his mouth. “What are you back for? Especially here!”

They part enough so they can see each other but arms are still hanging loosely around each other. Hunk’s eyes seem to be wandering around, observing all of Keith’s face, then to the area behind him.

“I’m here for Shiro’s birthday,” Keith says. “Staying here. If that’s cool.”

“If that’s _cool_?” Hunk hugs him tight one more time before letting go, “Of course, dude! What do you want for dinner, I would’ve prepared a feast, ugh, you should’ve told me — Lance!”

“Uhm,” Lance raises his hands in surrender, “I’m just as surprised as you are buddy. And don’t worry about cooking, you just came back. There’s always time for your Michelin star cooking, but I’ll handle it now while you’re cleaning up.” And Lance leaves them to go to the kitchen, playing with a hair tie between his fingers. Keith follows the movement, just realizing his own hair has fallen loose on his shoulders.

“Just _one_ Michelin star?” Hunk calls back as Lance’s muffled outcry can be heard from the kitchen.

Keith turns back to Hunk, who is beaming at him with a fond look that makes Keith shy. “Where do you work?” Keith asks, something he’s been curious about for a minute. But from what he can gather, with the oil marks and heavy boots, he has an idea.

“At this car garage — well, more like, auto shop for anything really. I also do a lot of call in orders, for like planes if people ask,” Hunk gestures at his mechanic’s jacket with his name embroidered neatly on it.

Keith does a low whistle. “That’s neat. Like, high grade stuff.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hunk smiles back, making his way towards the stairs while still facing Keith, “What about you? Still the Blades?”

Keith nods.

“Well, we’ll catch up in a minute. Lemme shower the gross stuff off real quick.” And he dashes off, looking at Keith with a long look that Keith returns.

Keith takes a moment to regroup himself. It’s a wonder at how easy it is to fall into similar patterns, like a map imprinted in his head, as if he was a permanent fixture in their life. He turns his way back to the kitchen, the sun behind them a brilliant orange. He tries not to think too hard if he would be allowed to stay here.

He finds Lance back in the kitchen and asks, “What are you cooking now?”

“Not really sure? Sorta just putting things together,” Lance responds, crushing some garlic. “What are you thinking of? You are the guest.”

Keith stays silent. He thinks of anything familiar, anything that sparks something from Earth — a vague memory of Shiro by his side occurs. He asks, in a small voice, “Can you make like this fried chicken… the Japanese one?” Keith furrows his eyebrows together. His memory is brief, the first time Shiro invited him over and they tried to cook; until they realized they’re both useless in a kitchen that they ended up ordering it from the mall’s food court.

Lance tilts his head and says, “Yeah, yeah. I think Hunk made it once before, but how hard can it be? I’ve fried chicken before. Just go back and relax, Lancey’s got this.”

And he’s promptly shooed out of the kitchen, forced to sit on one of the barstools as he watches Lance roll his sleeves up. Keith tries to resist, “I could help!”

“Not on my life, Vân Kiều.” Lance snorts and starts looking up a recipe online. Eventually, after Keith’s quips of trying to join, he settles for watching Lance. His body moves like he’s dancing, barely looking where he’s going with the soft shadows from the echoes of sunlight illuminating the kitchen.

-

After a satisfying dinner (Keith again, eats like no tomorrow, stuffs two chicken breasts and rice into his stomach, some pineapple afterwards, and he hasn’t had a coke in what feels like a million years, so that’s a plus), they’re settled on the couch, streaming a silly drama with no spaces in between them. Keith almost feels bothered by his hair, but he watches as Lance plays with it absentmindedly on the couch and forgets about it.

The thought of family briefly enters his head.

“So, you’re still doing mechanic work,” Keith nods at Hunk, “then what…” he trails off, leaning his head backwards towards Lance.

Hunk snorts, “Don’t be fooled. Lance says he’s working, but he’s really just like. A glorified housewife or something.”

“I am not!” Lance squawks, hands smacking down on the pillow on his lap. “For your information, _Keith,_ I am working in a very lucrative, prosperous employment opportunity with _amazing_ benefits where I learn and practice the art of matching emotion to people’s needs and wants as gifts—”

“He works at a flower shop a few streets down,” Hunk supplies, getting up. Ignoring Lance’s rants about how _bouquet making is a very important job, thank you very much,_ Hunk frowns and asks, “Do you want a beer? Or like… a seltzer? I don’t really know what you like.”

“Seltzer?” Keith asks. “You mean like sparkling water?”

Hunk rolls his eyes, locking them with the boy behind him, “Yah. Glorified la Croix,” and he pitches his voice, mocking Lance, “ _with a splash_ of alcohol.”

“Hunk, you wound me so.”

“White claw?”

“Black cherry please.”

Their eyes return to Keith. “Uhm. I’ll have a beer.”

Hunk nods. “Sweet. We can call Pidge in a minute,” and he drifts to a mini fridge Keith didn’t even notice. It’s white, covered in little magnets, and in the middle, is a picture of everyone at Shiro and Matthew’s wedding.

He’s warm even before Hunk passes him the beer.

Lance sits cross legged by the television, hooking up the HDMI of his laptop, a loading screen appearing and Pidge fills out the big screen.

“Keith!” Their little gremlin voice screeches. “Keith, Keeeittth — _Keith!!_ Mom, holy fuck, Why didn’t you tell me, dude! You just left your cute little pod for _me_ to take care of like a gift, not even telling me? Actually, shut up, I’m going there _right now_ , you little shit.” They spit out all in one breath.

Lance snickers behind him and Keith elbows him in the side, but it only makes Hunk giggle too.

Pidge keeps talking, “Okay, Keith is probably sleeping there but I can get the spare bedroom. I’ll start packing tonight. I’m so _pissed_ you get to hang out without me, oh my god!!”

“We’ll be ready when you get here. We can all be together until,” Hunk turns back to his side, “How long _are_ you staying, Keith?”

Keith presses his lips together, if he doesn’t cool it, he might, dunno, cry or something. He takes a glance back at Lance. Then he looks back at Hunk, “I’m not sure,” he whispers.

“Are you okay, Keith?” Pidge asks from the screen.

Keith tries not to look at them in the eyes, it’s too much, and Hunk is warm, and Lance is _here,_ and fuck, Pidge’s eyes are huge in concern.

He breathes out, shaky. A single tear rolls down and it’s kind of pathetic, he feels the red flush of embarrassment, but he manages.

“I just, I’m really happy to be,” everything is so much, he’s overwhelmed, but for the first time in his life, it’s too good, “home.”

Keith tries to wipe his eyes, but Hunk is too strong on his right while Lance smothers him on the other.

On the screen, Pidge’s eyes are filled with affection, and says, “It’s good to see you.”

Through Keith’s blurry vision, he feels whole. The war may have broken some of their limbs, changed them forever, but he’s got a great mom and a great dog, and Shiro’s alive, and here he is, loved.

-

Keith wakes up on the couch, sunlight irritating his eyes. There’s a blanket drawn on him and the whistling of a coffee machine in the air. He turns, eyes watching Hunk in a morning robe, pouring some in a mug.

When he turns, their eyes meet. Hunk asks, “Black?”

Keith nods while mumbling, "Lactose." Then shuts his eyes close tightly for one second. Then wills himself to get up, dragging the blanket with him. “California is colder than I thought,” he says, sitting on one of the stools, bringing the blankets closer.

“Temperature is wack here, but it’s pretty similar to the desert, so you should be used to it,” Hunk says while he pours some for Keith. “We couldn’t wake you up last night, but you and Pidge better sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. There’s a heater.”

Keith nods, eyes falling back down, still sleepy.

“I have a half day at work today, but I’ll be picking up Pidge afterwards. Then the next three days then Shiro comes for his birthday. It’ll just be us.”

Keith is barely processing the words, fingers rake through his hair, and Hunk is already humming his merry way.

He finds himself awake again, closer to noon, when someone pats him on the shoulder. His forearms are _freezing,_ and when he lifts his head to find the kitchen, he realizes he fell asleep on the counter again.

“Rise and shine,” Lance says in a sing-songy voice, refilling Keith’s mug. Lance grabs a glass, puts ice in it then some coffee and milk for himself, then drizzles it with whipped cream.

“Why are you saying it like that,” Keith mumbles and Lance offers him less of an answer and more of mumbles of _how do i expect you to know the intricacies of pop culture and kylie jenner_ and starts moving through the kitchen again.

“You’ve been cooking a lot,” Keith observes.

“Well, I guess it comes in the job description of being an adult,” Lance says, placing two bowls in front of them again. “It’s literally just oatmeal and bacon.”

“I like oatmeal.”

“Of course you do,” Lance says, taking a sip from his iced coffee and ignores Keith’s love of oatmeal. He checks his wrist before handing Keith a black hair tie again. “Sorry, this is yours. I took it by accident.”

Keith almost goes cross eyed trying to look at the object before he shrugs his shoulders, “You can keep it if you want to play with it.”

Lance’s mouth twists in contemplation, but he slips it around his wrist again like a bracelet. He looks at it for a second, then back at Keith. His eyes are calculating as he takes a sip of coffee, a look that has been occurring frequently through his time here. Keith wonders if there’s danger upcoming to threaten the peace, but Lance blinks and the expression is gone and he says. “Thank you. What else do you want to do before Pidge comes?”

Keith shrugs. “Anything.”

Lance nods, thinking to himself, feet tapping on the floor. “We could go for a walk after this. The beach is pretty close.”

Keith bites his lip. Anything.

They eat their meal, Keith’s stomach once again glad to have _real_ food, puts on a jacket as they make their way out the door.

Lance waves at the same woman Keith saw watering plants the first day he got there. Keith tries not to think too much about the ways their pinkies brush against each other every few steps — he’s not some stupid teenage boy around their first crush. (Except he is stupid. Around his crush.)

The place they live is colorful, with houses painted various colors with flowers adorning everywhere with crazy looking new cars and vintage old cars line up on the street. The sun still glares at them, but it’s too chilly for a swim; the wind rustling through their clothing and the silence crosses between the line of familiar and unsettling.

They cross a few streets until they get to a path leading them to a parking lot right by the beach, with people jogging and roller skating around them. Lance waves at one of the lifeguards as they sit on the ledge that separates the lot from the sand.

“You know a lot of people here,” Keith says under his breath as Lance sticks his feet in the sand.

“Well, you know me, lover boy Lance, hero of the universe, wonder to the people,” Lance breaks into a smile, something secret, a joke only a few people would understand. Like Keith.

Keith nods then follows Lance’s example. The sand is really nice on his feet. The rough surfaces exfoliating the old and welcoming the new and he didn’t wear boots this time. Red flowers grow around them, but Lance seems to recognize them as he picks them up and whispers, “Camellias,” he smiles, “my favorite.”

“Hey,” Lance whispers and Keith’s distracted by how near he is, how Lance’s eyelashes shadow over his eyes. “Do you wanna race to the shore?”

“What?”

But Lance’s long legs are already tripping over the dunes, sand spreading everywhere. Keith briefly braces himself on the concrete and he follows, ignoring a particularly sharp shell stabbing his foot. His thighs ache in the sudden change of pace and he’s running, running until he’s right by Lance’s heels. He wonders when the tables turned and Lance was the one being one step ahead of him, he wonders if this was how Lance felt when they were younger. For a second, they’re flying.

The sea salt sting at Keith’s eyes, blurring his vision as he almost slips on the slick sand beneath them. Lance hops into the tide, splashing around, and shouts, “I win!” Then stretches his arms, looks at Keith sheepishly, and his next utterance is like a confession. “Again.”

Keith focuses on the feeling of surf foam beneath him.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” Lance says, hands by his hips, facing the shore. The wind gently parts Lance’s hair, leaving his forehead open and Keith stares at it. The brightness of the world seems to shine on Lance when he asks, “What do you think, Keith?”

“Yeah,” Keith replies, not looking at the beach. “Really beautiful.”

But flying is fragile, and there’s always a crash waiting at a turn too close to the sun. Too cold and too warm at the same time causes a storm.

Lance’s eyes close, a secret pressed to his lips. “What are you willing to do?”

“What do you mean?” Keith asks, unsure of how to respond.

“You say you’re sorry,” Lance opens his eyes, facing straight ahead and his voice is flat and monotone, so far from the usual bursts of emotion in his words — as if reciting a script he doesn’t want to read. Cold. “But you’re still partnered with the Blades. You like helping people, Keith, self-sacrificial bastard. I want to stay close to home and travel Earth. So, how do you think this is going to work?”

At the end of his words, it almost sounded like a challenge.

Keith tries to calm his breathing, _one two,_ out, _three four._ His heart is beating so hard that red blooms on his face, not sure if it means anger or embarrassment or fear. But he can’t hold back when he asks, “How do _I_ think it’s going to work? I’m not the only one here, this is a team effort.”

When Lance turns the waves crash behind him, his eyes are harsh like an angry god. “I’m not the one who forgot, I’m not the one who always runs away and thinks it will be alright when you come back,” he says, voice scathing like venom seeping through veins. The cold seems to settle between them.

“I’m not doing that now,” Keith spits out, “I’m not running away anymore.”

“Hah.” Despite Keith’s growth spurt over the years, it feels as if Lance is the one looking down on him, “What changed?”

Instead, Keith responds with. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? We had years before now that we could’ve talked about this—”

“Stop avoiding the question, Keith,” Lance glares, voice raised. “You just said you aren’t running away anymore, but you still do. You’re the one who forgot, you left me, how am I supposed to tell you when we were kids when I was scared that you _hated_ me?”

At the end of his words, Keith feels as if a whirlwind rips right between them. The aftermath leaves a hollow coldness within him, but each exhales feels like swirls of emotions being released into smoke. Lance feels like a world apart, with a glare that unravels all of Keith’s carefully built walls. He’s transported back to his vulnerable, angry childhood as if they’re both young kids trying to figure out how to solve the problems of the universe.

But they still are.

Keith squares his shoulders, calms his breathing. Keith is silent for a second. Lance managed to somehow bring into words the fragments of anxiety that have been following him around for the last few days. He’s thought of answers to these questions, all in dreams and half-finished. “I _never_ hated you. And I don’t want to keep running, Lance,” he whispers.

“As a kid, I didn’t think I would ever have a future,” Keith starts, all caution going out the window. “But you bring out the best in me — as a kid in school, fighting up in space, and giving me a home here.” He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a jagged breath, “You’re the strongest and most caring person I know, I just wasn’t sure how I could handle it. I know I messed up, I know it’s not always going to be perfect, but I want to try. And make it up to you no matter how long it takes. I want this, not only because I remember what we had, but because you’re Lance. And I want to know every version of yourself as you grow.”

“I was always too scared about not having a future that I never thought of it. I was always fighting for a _tomorrow,_ that I never thought to stop running. I was afraid, but you remind me to be brave again,” his voice breaks and he turns to look at Lance, vulnerable, “and I think I’m ready to.”

The words sink in the space between them and it feels like the biggest leap Keith has taken. Keith’s heartbeat thrums through his ears, echoing the crash of waves behind them. He briefly thinks about the same feeling he gets while flying, the exhilaration dropping through his chest, the coursing fire through his veins and he again wonders if Lance ever felt the same way.

Then in an almost anti climactic manner, after the sea surf settles down, Lance immediately spins on his heels. He says in a muffled, almost panicked voice, “Turn around! Don’t look at me!”

Keith’s arms were already reaching out but he feels as if he’s frozen now, and he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yes!” Lance yells back, arms moving toward his face, “Just-just doesn’t look at me right now.”

Keith bites his lips but turns around. He can only hear the echoes of soft pants from the other side for a second. A hand grabs Keith’s shoulder and he turns as Lance wipes his eyes, saying, “Okay, it’s fine now.”

They stand still for a second, facing each other again that feels like a cool breeze. The tension fades between them, leaving them both on equal footing and they can truly _see_ each other, it takes one defender of the universe to know one. All the defenses are gone, all that is left in the end is both of them by each other’s side.

Keith’s brain tries to figure out the best way to ask, to make him feel better without addressing his teared up expression, but he can only repeat his earlier question, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, fresh as a cucumber,” Lance flashes the OK sign. “Do you really think we can make this work? Even when we’re separated sometimes? Even when we want different things right now?”

“I think,” Keith tries to swallow around his dry mouth, “that even if I want to do missions with the Blades for a while, I still want to come home to you. He hangs his arm to the side awkwardly, vulnerable, “if you would let me.”

Lance inhales, lips forming voiceless words, and tugs on Keith’s jacket. Lance looks at him like he’s the only thing he sees, looking at all of Keith, with the sunlight in his eyes, the brightness when a storm passes, and he looks beautiful. The sun behind them seemed to melt into the sea, turning into a painting of misty pastels that surrounded them.

“I’m sorry for being mean,” Lance whispers. “I was just anxious about this.”

“No, it’s okay,” Keith replies, voice equally gentle, “I’m also sorry for exploding a little. And everything else.”

The corners of his mouth uplift, a small laugh coming out of Lance. He turns back, and says, “Well then let’s get back home, samurai.”

-

They enjoy each other's company for a while with the smell of soup in the air, until a bang on the door that could be mistaken as a gunshot is heard and Pidge, barreling in like Sonic, drops everything and speeds towards Keith who falls on his back with an ‘oof’.

Hunk places the bags together neatly and shuts the door. “What are you cooking?”

“Stew,” Lance responds while cutting potatoes then cocks his hips, eyeing the scene with Pidge and Keith, waving the knife in a wary manner, “What, no hug for me?”

“Shut up,” Pidge responds, freeing Keith and moves towards the kitchen. Then evades Lance completely to tackle Hunk.

“Now you’re just being mean,” Lance gasps, leaning back on the kitchen island in a melodramatic fall. “After all the work I’ve done in our community.”

Pidge hugs Lance from behind and Lance falls into a fit of giggles, before Pidge yells, “Get that away from me!” referring to the knife in his hands. He places it down to try and grab Pidge by the ears, but they stomp on his foot and head towards Keith.

“C’mon, Keith, help me bring these up to the guest bedroom while the losers set up the kitchen,” Pidge tugs on him, handing him a big luggage, then march up the stairs like they own the place.

Keith mock salutes and follows them.

He hasn’t actually been to the guest bedroom slash attic yet, with his first night being slumped on the couch and his only belongings being the clothes on his back the day he came down. It has those slanted walls and little windows pouring in light. The sheets are white and fresh and a Pidge had buzzed their way back into his arms.

“Missed you,” Pidge says, muffled around his waist, so it comes across more as “mishedyohu”.

Keith pats them on the shoulder, their hair combed more to one side to reveal tufts of shorter strands by the ear. He was going to respond with, ‘miss you too,’ but he ends up saying, “You have a mullet.”

Pidge groans, their head stuffed into his waist more in the form of a headbutt, “Shut up.”

“Well, you do,” Keith replies. “Oh, that reminds me, do you have another hair tie?”

Pidge sticks out their tongue as they let go of Keith. “Yeah, they're in my bag, I can get you one. I have some headbands if you want,” they gesture towards the bags scattered all on the floor.

“I’ll have one of each,” Keith says back.

Pidge nods, going through their bag before pulling out a simple black wired headband and a hair tie. He slips on the headband, taking his bangs off of his face while keeping the tie on his wrist. He wonders if Lance would play with it again.

Pidge returns, not bothering to unpack the rest, and sits cross legged on the bed. They have frogs on their socks. Pidge pats the bed and Keith dutifully sits on the other side, ignoring the implication behind this being the same motion he does with Kosmo to make him sit.

“Sooooo, tell me everything.” Pidge chirps.

“What do you mean?”

“You drop down from the sky all the way to earth, no call, days before the party? Staying with the beanpole? Tell me, tellme, tellmeeverything!” Pidge almost starts vibrating, shaking the whole frame of the bed.

“Nothing really happened,” Keith says, hand at the back of his neck. “I told him that I remembered. He said he would think about it.”

Pidge’s face immediately falls in itself, stricken with guilt and hands reaching out, “No, I’m sorry. I sh—”

“No, no, no. I actually,” Keith licks his lips, thinking of the last few days spent — hands raking through his hair, sand tangled in their jeans, ankles pressing close under the table. How Lance looked at him when they were at the beach. “I think I can handle it.”

Pidge looks at Keith, eyes big and owlish. Then sighs, tapping their fingers on their side. “If you’re sure. I just want you to be happy.”

Keith hugs them again, thinking of the other night, and replies simply with, “I am.” And hugs them again, feeling warm.

-

After dinner (some potato stew with some bread Hunk got from a bakery nearby) and right before Hunk introduces dessert (fancy hot chocolate), he and Lance leave for a second, heels tripping over the stairs. Keith and Pidge’s eyes meet but soon enough, the two return, holding pairs of fuzzy, mismatched colors of Christmas sweaters.

“Now, before we cuddle on the couch and enjoy our steamed _crème,”_ Keith rolls his eyes at that, “With melted Belgian chocolate which has been checked for not taking advantage of their workers, thank you very much; with a shot of vanilla, homemade whip, lactose-free milk, and merengue—”

“Just get on with it!”

“Shh, Pidgey. We got these very special Christmas sweaters for us!” Hunk finishes Lance’s eloquent speech by tossing the surprisingly soft fabric above their heads. “Christmas is over, but it doesn’t mean we can’t wear the sweaters. Besides, we didn’t spend that holiday together and we didn’t want these to go to waste.”

Keith tests the sweater between his fingers for a second, reveling in the velvet, before trying to read between the eye straining red and green: _have yourself a very mothmas!_

He decides to interrupt Pidge’s rendition of their own sweater, blue and yellow compared to the rest of them, reading, _‘come on baby! light up my menorah!’_ Keith asks, “What’s a mothmas?”

Three pairs of eyes turn to him, beady.

“Dude, what!! Pidgey, you _told_ me he was a cryptic-whatever-person!”

“Nu-uh, what, Lance, you just _assumed_ that because I was trying to explain to you West Virginia folklore and you said ‘man sized flying bird, huh, sounds like Kei—’”

“Nope, I distinctly remember you saying something about mothman. Now you’re going to say that he doesn’t believe in the Jersey Devil.”

“Hunk, I swear on my life — this boy does not know anything about cryptozoology, not like _us,_ he only did, and does, swear and believe in aliens!”

“AHH!” Lance shouts, putting his own sweater on, his own saying _‘hoehoehoe’,_ and puts the one on Pidge’s neck and turns to pull Keith’s sweater over too. “Stop! Let’s watch some romcom movies while drinking some delicious fancy snazzy hot choco Hunk’s going to make.”

Pidge pretends to strangle Lance’s neck while Keith’s reading Hunk’s sweater: _‘i know what you did last christmas’._

Four large mugs filled, some Netflix original movie on the television, and a dead asleep foot, they’re finally on the couch, settling into the night. The drink warms Keith to his very core and when he turns to put it on the coffee table, he catches Lance’s eyes and they seem to sparkle. It lasts for a split second until the other boy looks away, face flushed red. Keith likes it, but again, he likes anything Lance does — and he takes it as a good sign.

-

Keith wakes up to the muffled sounds of a radio and a crash of something falling. He rubs his eyes for a split second, adjusting to the brightness. Relaxation has done a good number on him. He turns to his side, where Pidge is sound asleep, runs his hands through their hair, then pulls over a sweater to go downstairs.

“Good morning, honey bun,” Lance says, not looking up as he sweeps the floor while a pancake cooks on the stove. Keith ignores the heat crawling up his neck from Lance’s pet name.

“Morning,” He replies, wincing at his gravelly voice.

“I dropped the broom, sorry if it woke you up,” Lance says, turning to Keith as he finishes sweeping the kitchen. His hair is a bit messy and a bare face, wrapped around in a blue robe. Keith likes that he gets to see him like this in the morning and decides he could get used to it.

“No problem.”

  
“Well, we better clean the house before Shiro and Matthew come over,”

“Sure.”

“Well, eat up, cowboy,” Lance smiles, using a spatula to flip over the pancake. “We gotta sweep every inch. Get the pretty towels. Blow up the air mattress. Make some food. Oh, by the way, what do you want? I can probably try to fry more of that chicken you liked before. We got champagne. Hunk’s making some fudge, but he’s going to get some groceries real quick and pick them up at the airport.”

“Uhm,” Keith stands around awkwardly before grabbing some plates and silverware to set. Lance beams at him. “That’s cool with me. I don’t know.”

“Think of it as a test,” Lance winks and just like that, the rest of the day is a whirl.

Keith vacuums the couch, under the cushions, then puts a fancy ‘bergamot sandalwood’ spray over everything. Lance cleans the leaves off the patio (Keith has no idea why). Hunk starts chopping away in the kitchen before placing something in the oven and leaving with Pidge in tow. The home is filled with scrubbing, the top fifty hits, Lance swearing when he drops his cleaning supplies to attend to the kitchen to check if something burned.

Finally, half past four, they’re both wiped out on the couch. Keith hopes he passed this trial.

“Oh my god,” Lance says, speaking to the ceiling. “I’m pooped.”

Keith nods.

“Do you have sweaters for Shiro and Matthew too?”

“Oh, _do I?_ You’re asking the wrong questions, Vân Kiều. It’s, _what kind of sweaters?_ ” Lance quips back, spraying another fancy ‘hibiscus paradise’ spray upwards before sputtering when all the particles get into his mouth and sinuses. Keith laughs when Lance throws a pillow in his direction.

They end up taking a breather for a second until the wind chimes from the patio cling together. It’s a pretty sound that Keith focuses on as he closes his eyes. The percussion of metal is gentle.

When he opens his eyes, Lance is standing by the doors, facing west as the sun starts its descent and exploding into a million colors. The other boy’s hands are clasped.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks, head still surrounded with pillows.

“Making a wish,” Lance replies as he turns around. The sun forms a halo that engulfs them until Lance looks like gold.

“A wish?” Keith repeats, sitting up straight.

“It’s a secret,” Lance winks at him. He makes his way back to the couch, playing with the petals of the purple colored flowers in a vase on the side table. “These are heliotropes and yarrows,” Lance says with no context. Keith observes how Lance bites his lip and how his hands move to fiddle with the frayed edges of a pillow.

“Here we are, back at sunset,” Lance finally says, breaking the silence. Keith turns to the window as if the sun was an old friend of theirs. It greets them as if it watched them come full circle — grown side by side, then grew apart, until they sit together again. Night to day, day to night. Now they meet at twilight, as the sun touches the skyline.

“You remind me of that.”

Keith feels his face wrinkle, “The window?”

“Wha—no, ugh,” Lance stuffs his face on a pillow that muffles the rest of his sentence, “I just think that you’re part of space but also earth, like the horizon.”

“Oh,” Keith responds, eloquently. He watches the sunset through the window, how the atmosphere seems to be a bridge between two worlds.

“Everything I love,” comes from behind the pillows, and Keith malfunctions. He can barely think, too aware of every distressed sounds coming from Lance as Keith feels himself leave his body. He’s hyper aware of his own heartbeat, his hands feel too far away to feel when Lance decides to start talking again.

“Do you still like hippos?” is what Lance asks instead.

Keith feels the wind go through him, his heart sinking to his stomach. His blood is loud in his ears as he turns towards Lance, fast enough for whiplash, and smacks him with a pillow, “That’s what you’re going to say?”

Lance gets up, blue glaring at Keith, “Just answer the question!”

“Sure!” Keith shouts back, trying not to look directly at Lance, “I think! Yes! I still like hippos!”

Lance sighs, falling on the couch with his back, “I’m just saying; we’ve grown a lot, but it’s nice that I still know you.”

“I think you would always know me,” Keith responds, words falling out of him, unyielding, “I think all of you would always know me. We’ve changed a lot — but I still think we’re always going to be bonded. To everyone.”

Lance is silent for a second then whispers, “I’m scared too, Keith.”

Keith tries watching him through his peripheral vision, Lance’s arm is covering his eyes, shielding him as he continues to talk, “I’m scared that we might not make it or that we’ll mess up. I was scared that I was going to mess this up, you come back home if I was too emotional or something. I wanted to show you that I also have grown, much more than you ever thought I could. To show you that I could also be as strong as you.”

“You always have been strong,” Keith whispers, feeling a mix of awe and delicacy. “Lance, you’ve changed my life in so many ways. You’re the reason we’ve all stuck together after all these years. It’s always been you.”

“Ha,” Lance jokes, “You know, I wasn’t always super charming, handsome, dazzling,”

“Captivating,” Keith supplies.

“Yeah, that,” the corners of Lance’s lips lift for a brief second. “I always compared myself to you to the point where I wasn’t sure if I wanted to _be you_ or _be with you,_ but I got over that real quick. I just wasn’t sure if I was _enough,”_ Lance lets out a weary sigh.

Keith drums his fingers on his thighs, “Lance, you could never be ‘too emotional’ and I cherish all of you. All of us do; we would be nothing without you.”

“Mhm,” Lance rolls his eyes playfully, “I know, babe, I’ve made peace with it. It’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Tell me something vulnerable about you. I told you how I felt, tell me. I wash your back, you wash mine, et cetera.”

“Isn’t it scratch?” Keith asks but continues after Lance half-heartedly punches his shoulder, “You know I was always afraid of being alone. Never thought of the future because I was scared I didn’t have one, never thought I had a place where I belonged.” The words tumble out of him, tasting like something foreign. He stares down at his hands, wondering why it doesn’t feel as sad as before. “I wasn’t sure if I missed my chances if you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

“Well, did you find it?” Lance asks him, “A place where you belong?”

Their eyes meet and Lance looks at him, like all those times before, and Keith feels so seen — he hopes that he looks at Lance the same way. He breathes, “Yeah.”

He hears a stuttering breath and the shuffling of textiles. Keith’s own body is still. Normally he would be too afraid to mess something this important up, but he feels so full and complete instead. Lance says, “Look at me.”

And Keith does, they face each other with their eyes locked. Keith wonders if every person gets to experience to be seen as one truly is. Every moment with Lance feels safe and comforting, but also always new and exciting as if the world was just starring the two of them and every moment was an invention of their own.

“Do you really want to be with me?” Lance asks, fragile as a loose thread. He repeats, “Like, really really? You won’t get sick of me?”

Keith takes a moment to take everything in — the sky is a brilliant burst of colors, like an explosion of glow sticks just as that one night long ago. Just as the sun always rises in the east, he knows that he’ll always return to Lance, “I think that we’re already sick of each other,” Keith mumbles, “But I don’t want to be sick of anyone else.”

Lance snorts, “That’s a weird way to say you love someone, Vân Kiều.”

Keith coughs, feeling all the blood rush to his face, feeling the words choke him around the throat, “I didn’t say that!”

“Mhmm.” Is all Lance says in response, a small smile forming on his face that just seals Keith’s fate.

Keith inhales, trying to keep his beating heart under control, “Well, whatever. I said I’ll never love someone else and I mean it.”

Lance’s eyebrows seem to climb up as Keith tries to keep eye contact between them. He’s trying not to let the heat of his cheeks get to him, the embarrassment that fidgets his leg. Lance’s eyes dart back to the window, then to Keith, still smiling. “You know, I meant what I said earlier. Everything I love.”

Keith’s heart stops and it dares, “Do you mean?”

“Yes.” Lance’s eyes glitter like a burst of exploding stars, a supernova. Though Keith would always prefer this sight over anything else, “I think it’s worth it, being with you.”

Water seems to wash all over him, blessing him like holy water. Except he feels the licks of flame in his blood, the same way he feels when he’s flying like he was born to, born to be here. That brave boy comes out, and he’s finally able to take Lance’s hands and says, “I think I’ll always fall in love with you, in every universe, in every timeline.”

“Me too,” Lance whispers, returning the grip on his hand into something tougher, binding them together, “I’d love you forever if I could.”

“Could you?” Keith feels his heart burst into a million tiny little flames and his lips curl upwards on the side of teasing.

“Oh, I know so, hotshot,” Lance leans in, their lips barely brushing like a secret whisper and it feels perfect in every way, “so you prepare yourself,” and the words are hot against Keith.

“ _You_ prepare yourself,” Keith retorts, knowing it makes no sense. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice filled with a tenderness he didn’t know he had in him.

Lance seems to melt with the gold around them, his eyes soft and unwavering. He nods and this kiss feels like a promise of forever, a sweet haunting.

When everyone returns home, their hands are clasped together with the fingers interwoven. He thinks to himself that the future will be kind — every world they’re reborn into will bring them back together, him and Lance, against the universe. And the family Keith found on the way, it’s his to keep always.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic went through a bunch - it was originally a fic about K realizing he's too late when A and L get together and it was going to be an S8 ending fix-it fic. then it went through a period of nothingness until i decided to connect it to ‘let me melt under the heat of your sun’ but wasn’t sure how to end it so it stayed as a draft ever since 2018. at the end of 2020. another spark of inspiration arose when I revisited a past relationship and decided i was going to write about K and L finding each other again after a bad relationship to cope - but i realized i had the perfect premise set up. plus, over quarantine i did end up going through a vld renaissance. i then pushed myself then to finish this, and here we are! it’s been over five years since i watched voltron and four years since let me melt, which me and stacey wrote as a 16 year olds in high school and now we're in our twenties (they're 19 ^^;;) ... a lot has changed and i would say this is a testimony to how much we have grown together.  
> 
> 
> also confession: don't wanna get into vld critic drama in 2021 but. never truly finished the show fyi, so sorry if anything's mischaracterized or have the wrong info haha  
> 
> 
> for the flower love language fans: the daffodils lance texts keith at first _(unrequited love)_ ; wallflowers around lance's home _(strength in adversity)_ ; red and pink carnations that lance have in a vase _('alas, my poor heart' and 'i'll never forget you')_ ; red camellias in the beach _(flame of my heart)_ ; heliotropes and yarrows in the vase that lance adds at the end _(everlasting love and devotion)_. lance did these all on purpose.  
> 
> 
> once again - thank you stacey forever and cheers to our growth as well, this literally would not be possible without you! i poured love into this fic and worked for so long on this, so thank you also for reading and growing together due to this godforsaken show so cheers to that as well! i hope you are being safe with _everything_ going on and would love to hear what you guys think of this monster, thank you so much again!  
> 
> 
> [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/akaeijis) / [tumblr](https://stygyaniron.tumblr.com/)  
>  [if you play genshin impact pls drop ur uid oomfs mine is 621190289]


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